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particular reason why you’d want to go tonight, Lou?’’
    Not wanting to stir up unnecessary suspicion, Louisa simply said, ‘‘Just wondered.’’
    ‘‘Well, if we did happen to go . . . and we took along your friend, she might cause a stir if she showed up in her trousers, ya know!’’
    No kidding, Louisa thought. Just then it occurred to her—‘‘I hope you didn’t worry about my coming here. You certainly had no idea I would do my best to blend in. Not beforehand, at least.’’
    Annie shook her head. ‘‘Ach, no, your visit was long overdue. Don’t think another thing ’bout it.’’
    She found it interesting how accepting Annie had been even from the earliest days of their letter writing. She recalled Annie’s prompt replies with Amish sayings printed on a separate page along with sketches of a one-room schoolhouse, Annie’s father’s black buggy, and other childish drawings. Never had there been any hint that Annie was doing something inappropriate by having an English pen pal, or that she should be careful about what she wrote. No indication, either, that Annie had any problem with Louisa’s being ‘‘worldly’’ and Annie, herself, as Plain as can be.
    ‘‘I say we plan on goin’ tonight,’’ Annie said, bringing Louisa out of her reverie.
    ‘‘You do?’’
    ‘‘Sure, but first let’s see what happens with Courtney’s plans—whatever they are—before we decide.’’ Annie smiled. ‘‘There’s been some quiet talk of a square dance.’’
    Oh, great. Sam didn’t say anything about that .
    Louisa’s Palm was in the top drawer of the bureau in the Dawdi Haus. She wondered how long before Courtney might actually call. ‘‘If we dress her up Plain—’’ she laughed out loud—‘‘she might end up riding home with a cute Amish boy! Who knows?’’
    Annie cast a knowing glance her way. ‘‘Cute, jah?’’
    ‘‘Well, you know.’’ And she was fairly sure Annie caught her meaning.
    ‘‘A raw day for a walk, jah?’’ Jesse said after the common meal when he saw Zeke coming back from the outhouse.
    Zeke nodded, his face drawn, his black hat pulled low on his forehead.
    Jesse waited for Zeke to get closer before saying what was really on his mind. ‘‘S’pose you made it over to the graveyard all right, then?’’
    Zeke’s bearded chin trembled momentarily. He slapped his gloved hands on his arms. ‘‘Can’t seem to get myself over there, now that I know where you and the bishop buried him.’’
    ‘‘Well, no one’s sayin’ you have to go, Zeke. Maybe it’s for the best if you don’t.’’ Jesse put a hand on his shoulder. ‘‘You’ve been through some rough waters.’’
    ‘‘Jah, my life’s out of kilter.’’
    Rightfully so. A man needs a wife—an obedient one. . . . ‘‘How’s the missus?’’ Jesse asked. ‘‘You’ve visited her and the children over at Irvin’s, no doubt?’’
    ‘‘Well, I stopped by there, but my temper’s fierce. Awful hard for me to control it anymore.’’ Zeke paused, breathing loudly. ‘‘Even still, Irvin’s keepin’ me from my wife and children.’’
    ‘‘Would you want me to speak to my cousin on that?’’
    ‘‘No . . . no. ’Tis best, prob’ly, that Irvin do things his way, since he’s the one givin’ my family shelter for now.’’
    For now. . . .
    Jesse wondered, indeed, if the Rancks were getting their grip on Zeke’s wife . . . would the People ever get her back? Especially with all her talk of saving grace and whatnot. ‘‘If she’s not back home in a week—and hasn’t repented of her pride—we’ll have to be talkin’, you and I.’’
    ‘‘A sorry situation all round. If she’d just stayed home, ’stead of seeking out that Mennonite friend.’’ Zeke scratched his face, looking down at his toes. ‘‘I have yet to see my youngest up close.’’
    ‘‘A baby girl, I hear,’’ Jesse offered, hoping to raise Zeke’s spirits.
    ‘‘Named after my Esther.